


Danse Macabre

by foundatlantis



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, M/M, Post-Season/Series 14, Resurrection, Reunions, Soft Crowley (Supernatural), Soft Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:42:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22529233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foundatlantis/pseuds/foundatlantis
Summary: 'Whoa, squirrel, don't kill me just yet,' Crowley said, eyeing him suspiciously and taking a step back; when it seemed he could step out no further, he looked at Dean, 'What are you doing?'Dean did not speak; instead, he embraced Crowley. The demon flinched, and made a move to lean away, but the hold only tightened round his shoulders.
Relationships: Castiel & Crowley (Supernatural), Crowley & Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Crowley & Sam Winchester, Crowley (Supernatural)/Dean Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 129





	Danse Macabre

**Author's Note:**

> Crowley isn't coming back in the last season, but we still have fanfiction to make up for that

The past hour, one after one they had dismissed ideas to the depths of Hell.

  
The bunker was stuffy, a bleak odour of whiskey shot through the air. The switches on all the lamps were up, and the soft golden glow glided across the room.

  
On the further side of the table, Castiel flipped the leaves in a thread-woven foliant ⸺ on one one hand, perhaps a meter high, sat a piled tower of books with a quick note of ragged paper on top ⸺ 'rejected', it read.

  
Sam had set about typing their plan into his notebook ⸺ the page read: '1. Find a way to deal with God's monsters'; and nothing further.

  
Dean had gone to the kitchen, and produced some cold beer in a tin from their fridge; he flipped the handle in the side of the coffee machine, and drank his own whiskey while steaming coffee rose in Castiel's cup with a soft rumble.

  
'Dean, bring me a coffee too, will you?' Sam called from the other room.

  
'Yeah,' said Dean, loudly, rolling a handle in the coffee machine and changing in another capsule. A web of thin scratches spread over the glossy paintwork.

  
On some urge, Dean pressed his fingers to it. They had not had the coffee machine long, nor did they use it often.

  
Absently, he trailed his fingers over the web. A sound from behind him broke in his vague thoughts.

  
'And don't forget my whisky, squirrel,' said a soft voice, and ice rolled down Dean's spine. He swiftly turned round, hand falling onto the gun in his belt.

  
The creature held a striking familiarity ⸺ the smile was soft on his lips and light in his eyes, which seemed to shimmer with a manner of glee ⸺ this ghost looked at Dean, and Dean only looked back.

  
'Crowley,' he said, fingers reaching deeper around the gun. He watched the creature's face, and stepped forward.

  
'Squirrel,' said the creature, 'How's it going, well?'

  
'Who are you?' said Dean, slowly, making to draw the gun from where he held it on the belt. The creature, which held its hands in the pockets of its black coat, did not move to stop him.

  
Dean drew the gun, and watched the creature carefully along the shimmering barrel. Softly, he laced his finger through the trigger guard and laid it onto the trigger.

  
'How did you get in?' he said.

  
'Not as warm a reunion as I expected, squirrel,' said the creature, 'what's happened? Haven't you missed me?'

  
'You're not Crowley,' said Dean, stepping closer, and gesturing for the creature to move; it complied, stepping through the door and back.

  
'What'd you mean, I'm not Crowley?' the creature said, in a scandalised tone, 'Who else would I be?'

  
'You tell me,' said Dean, 'An imposter? A demon? A ghost? What are you?'

  
'Funny you should ask,' the creature said with its familiar voice, 'it so happens I don't know myself. Still a demon, I think.'

  
'Don't pretend to be him,' said Dean, drawing in the air that the creature backed up into the room where Sam and Cas sat; the creature nodded, still not making for an attack, and pressed the handle in the door down.

  
'What took you so⸺,' Sam stopped short, eyeing Dean with alarm when his brother walked, slowly, in behind the creature, and shut the door, 'whoa. What's happening?'

  
'I'm back, moose,' said the creature, and Sam cut Castiel a sidelong glance, 'let's hear your 'hurray's; go ahead.'

  
'Dean,' said Castiel, setting his book aside, 'Is this truly Crowley?'

  
'Why does everyone seem to think I'm something other than?' the imposter said, its face twisting expressively.

  
'Crowley's dead,' said Dean.

  
'Yeah, not anymore, I'm not,' said the creature, and looked around the room; then, it pointed across the room at a dusty, woven rug which lay over the stone, and said, matter-of-factly, 'there's a demon trap under that atrocity.'

  
'Yes, there is, and you're going in it,' said Dean, and nodded towards the rug. A curl of distaste chased over the creature's lips, and then, once again, it complied.

  
'Right, I'm in,' said the creature, looking with an almost amused curiosity at its own feet and round, 'I can't feel my powers, so I'm still a demon ⸺ thank God for that.'

  
'How did you know?' said Casteil, who had stood up and walked across the room to the creature. Sam dragged his chair next to him, and watched the creature, warily.

  
Dean fastened his gun in his belt.

  
'What, about the trap?' said the creature in an irritated tone, 'Because I'm me, Beyonce. Christ, how else would I know any of the stuff I've said?'

  
'You could find out,' said Sam, thoughtfully; then, he turned to Dean, 'ask him something only Crowley would know, for sure.'

  
'Like what?' said Dean.

  
'Like… like this,' Sam said, and turned to the creature, 'what was the last thing you told us, before you died?'

  
'Before I sacrificed myself, you mean,' said the creature, 'would've expected a bit of gratitude. Thankfully, I remember.'

  
It smiled, sadly, and said, hand falling over its heart, in a mockingly sentimental tone: 'Goodbye, boys.'

  
Dean and Sam shared a sidelong glance, and the latter shrugged, and nodded. Dean looked, suspiciously still, at the creature, and said:

  
'If you're Crowley, then tell me ⸺ what was our relation?'

  
'Meaning whether or not I was your secret twin?' said the creature, smiling, and shifting on the dusty rug.

  
'No, meaning, our attitude towards each other,' said Dean; he caught Sam's sad glance his way, and said nothing.

  
'You and moose, or,' the creature winked, 'just us?'

  
'Just us,' Dean said.

  
'Well, I actually quite liked you, as I've told you,' the creature said, 'can't speak for you, squirrel, but, at a guess, I'd say you hated me.'

  
'That's not what Crowley said he thought, before,' Dean narrowed his eyes.

  
'Yeah, well, suppose I've come to terms with it,' said the creature, 'I'm a demon, you hate demons. I never had a chance.'

  
'He didn't hate all demons,' supplied Castiel, who had leaned over the back of Sam's chair, and Dean shot him a glance full of distaste.

  
'He hated me, what matters,' the creature said, 'right, we done with the tests, or shall I tell you my whole history again now?'

  
'Yeah, that's Crowley alright,' laughed Sam, softly.

  
'Bloody finally, some common sense,' said Crowley, a smile breaking in through his frown, 'you were always my favourite, moose.'

  
'Huh,' said Dean dully, and he seemed to think on some idea for a second; then, he made for the rug over which Crowley stood, 'really you, huh?'

  
'Yes, really me,' said Crowley, 'let me out now, will you?'

  
'I see,' Dean said, and stepped further over the rug ⸺ he had, perhaps, now passed the boundary of the Devil Trap beneath it.

  
'Whoa, squirrel, don't kill me just yet,' Crowley said, eyeing him suspiciously and taking a step back; when it seemed he could step out no further, he looked at Dean, 'what are you doing?'

  
Dean did not speak; instead, he embraced Crowley. The demon flinched, and made a move to lean away, but the hold only tightened round his shoulders.

  
'Right, okay, happy reunion time's over,' Crowley clapped Dean on the side softly, in an uncertain manner. The hunter did not step back.

  
Helplessly, Crowley shared a look with Sam and Cas over one shoulder. The former pressed up a palm over his lips and smiled against it slightly, whereas the latter watched Dean with some lost confusion.

  
'Squirrel, really, now,' said Crowley, softly.

  
With the corner of his eye, he saw Sam clap Castiel's shoulder, and usher him out the room. The door clicked, and a silence rolled over them.

  
'Done yet?' said Crowley, slowly.

  
'Yeah,' said Dean, leaning away. Some heavy lead seemed to have lifted from his eyes, and Crowley smiled to himself.

  
'It seems, I might have misjudged our relation,' he though, watching, with fondness, while Dean scraped a line through the Devil Trap.


End file.
